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Wednesday, 20 January 2016

Sneak Peek! Sinful Possession

The 5th book of the Cynfell Brothers series releases on the 25th so I'm sharing the first chapter of Ash Cynfell's story. Ash is one of the twins and his dashing brother, Harris, also features in his story quite a bit. Ash is a bit unlike the other brothers--very brooding and a bit of a recluse. Can the vibrant Lila Radley change that? Pre-order your copy for only 99c to find out!

Chapter One

Ash Cynfell cracked open an eye. He closed it again at
the sight that greeted him. The sense of being watched failed to dissipate so
he forced that eye open once more and peered at his reflection.

No, not his reflection. His
twin brother.

“What the devil are you doing
here?” he grumbled, hearing the gritty tone to his voice. He closed both eyes
and concentrated working through the fog that had crowded his mind several
hours ago and left him lethargic and almost unable to move from his bed.

“Drinking again, brother?”
Harris asked. “On today of all days.”

Ash did not deny it. He
worked hard to open both eyes and stare down his brother as he leant over him.
While they were identical, Harris didn’t suffer the affliction of red-rimmed
eyes or creases on his forehead, as Ash knew he’d currently have if he braved a
look in a mirror.

“What do you want?”

“Well, that’s charming.”
Harris strode over to the chair in the corner of the bedroom, sat, and lifted
yesterday’s newspaper that had been abandoned when his vision had grown too
blurry to read it. His brother crossed one leg over the other and flicked the
paper open.

Ash clenched his jaw and
lifted his gaze to the ornate ceiling of his townhouse bedroom. He took a few
breaths and counted to ten. As close as they were, he loathed how Harris had to
make such a display about everything. Nothing was ever easy with his brother.
Everything had to be dramatic and over-the-top.

“Goddamn it, Harris, piss
off and leave me to sleep.”

“It’s seven o’clock.” Harris
lowered the paper. “In the evening.”

“And I like my bed.” He
resisted the urge to pull the covers and sulk under them much like when they
were children.

“You would like it a lot
more if you actually got out of it and went in search of company. Honestly, Ash,
I’m beginning to have concerns about you. Are you sure you’re my brother? When
was the last time you kissed a woman, let alone bedded her?”

He didn’t want to consider
it, but he found himself doing so. A year? No, two. It wasn’t that he didn’t
have healthy male desires. It was simply that finding a woman took effort. With
these constant headaches attacking him, he hardly had the energy.

Not to mention, he did not
want to let someone close enough to find out about them.

“I get enough women,” he
ground out.

His brother put the paper
onto the small table next to the chair and stood. He pushed a hand through dark
hair and straightened his waistcoat. Being identical twins had brought them
plenty of entertainment as boys and even as young men, but it also brought its
annoyances. They had the uncanny ability to purchase the same clothing or pick
out the same fabrics at the tailors. Looking exactly like one another grew old
and the constant comments, frustrating. The attention from women had been
interesting once but no longer—not since the headaches started getting worse.

Harris gave him a
disbelieving look but said no more. “Today of all days to drink yourself to
sleep...”

Ash forced himself upright,
swung his legs over the bed and crossed his arms over his rumpled clothing.
This morning he’d been dressed and ready to have a productive day until his
vision had begun to blur, a great swathe of dots dancing in front of it. He’d
taken immediately to his bed with the knowledge of what was to come.

An agonising pain and a
lethargy that barely let him put one foot in front of the other.

He wouldn’t correct his
brother. The assumption was always he’d been drinking or that he was too lazy
to get out of bed. His family had been assuming that ever since the headaches
started when he was a lad. Not the drinking part of course, but he was grateful
when he could start legitimately indulging in a tipple to have an excuse for
wasting hours and hours in bed.

Far better that than the
alternative.

“Since when do my drinking
habits concern you?”

“Since you challenged Fred
Westerling to a duel and you need a steady hand.”

Ash swung a surprised glance
at the clock as if that could somehow tell him the day. But it told him his
brother had been right and it was now past seven o’clock. Past the time he was
meant to be meeting that damn fool for pistols at...well...dusk.

“Damn it all.” He pushed up
from the bed and tried to hide his wince.

His brother shot him a
concerned look, and Ash shied away from it. He didn’t want sympathy. The very thought
made his gut curdle. He was a man—a strong, fit and healthy one by all
accounts. It was just his head that was wrong, somehow.

But it mattered not. Men did
not take to their bed like delicate ladies because of a mere headache. He
still recalled his mother saying as much when he’d first begun suffering this
affliction. Her sharp voice practically grated his memory, and he resisted the
desire to wince once again.

“Do you think he will still
be there?” They’d planned to meet on the small green behind Westerling’s house.
Harris was to be his second.

“You’d better hope not. In
the state you’re in, you’ll never be able to shoot straight.”

“I could be dead and still
shoot Westerling.” The man was a terrible shot, no matter how much he bragged.

“Shoot him, yes, but in your
condition you’ll miss your mark.” Harris handed over the necktie Ash had been
scanning the room for. “I know you have no intention of killing the man.”

“A little nick to the arm
will give him a fright enough.”

His brother peered at him. “I
am afraid, brother, no man would look at you and think you could shoot straight
at present. I do not really want to have to start telling people my twin
brother is a murderer.”

“You won’t have to,” he
snapped. As long as his vision did not cloud again—which it should not as the
headaches never struck him twice in one day—he’d be able to give Westerling a
scare and come away unscathed.

“Is a lady really worth
prison time over?”

“Of course.”

Ash could not quite remember
which lady it was he’d caught Westerling forcing himself upon. The man had a
habit of being ungentlemanly and that had been the last straw for him. No woman
should have to tolerate such behaviour, and the poor lady had blamed herself
for allowing herself to be near him, such was the man’s reputation. No more,
Ash had vowed, and thus he had challenged the blackguard.

“I imagine you have no plans
on bedding her either.”

“None at all.” He finished
tying his necktie in a messy knot. He kept no valet and minimal staff. It was easier
to keep his affliction quiet that way. Did it matter if it meant he never
looked quite as turned out as his brother? He didn’t think so.

“Now I’m convinced. You
cannot be a Cynfell.”

“If I’m not a Cynfell, then
neither are you,” Ash snapped back. He saw the teasing glint in his brother’s
eyes and rolled his own. “Come, let us get this debacle over with. If the man
is still even there. He must know he hadn’t a hope in hell of shooting me in
the near dark.”

Ash finished tidying up his
appearance and retrieved his pistol. They took Harris’ carriage to Green Park,
and he ordered the driver to wait. He wasn’t sure his brother had any
confidence in his ability to shoot at all and half-expected him to need a quick
trip to the doctor.

He narrowed his gaze at the
dark shadows of the trees. Lamps lit the streets and the night was a silvery
colour but he saw no sign of Westerling.

“He’s given up!” Harris
declared.

The park was empty—one of
the reasons they’d chosen to duel in the evening rather than the traditional
morning. It was unlikely anyone would create a fuss about them duelling, but he
wasn’t a fan of having his illegal behaviour in the gossip rags. Let him leave
the column inches to his other brothers.

He smirked. Who were
steadily becoming less newsworthy than even himself, which was saying
something. Four of his brothers were busy playing doting husbands, and three
were now fathers. Only Pierce and his countess hadn’t opted for extending the
Cynfell pack. With his wife already having a fully grown child, he could not
quiet blame them.

A pang of guilt struck
him when he thought of his nieces and nephews. He hadn’t even met Viola and
Julian’s most recent baby. Not that they expected him to visit, given his
reputation, but he had to be about the worst uncle in the world.

“Wait.” Harris drew his
attention to the park.

A movement. “Is that him?”
They moved toward the shadowy figure. It was Westerling. The fellow seemed to
stagger, stop...then he collapsed.

“What in the devil?” Ash
hastened forward and came to the man’s side. Something damp met his fingertips
and a rasping breath told him all was not well.

“Damn you, Cynfell,”
Westerling rasped. “He killed me.”

“Who killed you?” Harris
glanced around but saw no one.

Only a bubbling sound and
the thump of Westerling’s hands falling to the side answered him.

“Ash, we need to get a
doctor.”

“Too damned late for that by
the looks of it,” his brother muttered but sprinted off toward the houses.

His eyes adjusted to the dim
light of the park, and he saw the dark stain of blood on Westerling’s clothes.
Whoever had hurt him had done so with the intention of killing him.

He stiffened at the sound of
crunching leaves. Taking a glance around, he saw no movement but then...his
heart bounded into his chest. A woman’s scream. Without thought, he was on his
feet and racing toward the source of the noise. Another scream. It pierced his
insides. This was a scream of terror.

He spilled out of the park
and paused. Not far from Spencer House, he spied the woman. A man had her pinned
against the brick wall of the building next to the mansion, and Ash caught the
glint of a knife as the golden glow of lamps bounced off it. He barely recalled
covering the distance between them or barrelling into the attacker. The sting
of his knuckles told him he’d struck the man and the cry in his ear announced
the safety of the victim. The man kicked out, knocking him in the gut and
forcing the air from his lungs. Whoever he was, he easily matched him. Ash
didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of his features before he wriggled away
and ran.

The crying woman prevented
him from giving chase. He turned his attention back to her and stilled. She
wore an emerald green evening gown, cut low across her shoulders and breasts.
Several scratches marred the pale skin there. Diamonds glinted on her neck and
wrists, and they shimmered with her trembling movements.

Really, he should have
chased the criminal, but how could he abandon her?

“You’re safe now,” he
announced.

She lifted an unsteady hand
to her mouth, and he admired the slender fingers beneath white gloves. Her
red-rimmed gaze met his. In spite of the tears and the clear horror in her
gaze, Ash couldn’t fail to notice how beautiful they were. Vibrant green,
slightly slanted, with dark lashes that few fair-haired women were blessed
with. They screamed innocent and wholesome yet were utterly alluring.

And her hair. It had fallen
from whatever intricate style it had been in and skimmed over her shoulders.
One golden curl nearly reached her waist. He longed to finger it.

“I-I saw him.”

He offered an awkward hand,
pressing it to her bare arm. Cold skin met his fingertips, and he quickly undid
his jacket and slung it over her shoulders. She leaned into him slightly as he
did so, making his heart expand.

Ash bit back a groan. There
had always been something that appealed to him about a woman in need. He’d
dreamed of being a hero in his younger years until the headaches had taken
hold. Maybe he would have captained a ship or gone exploring. Something bold and
courageous, and he’d return home and the ladies would adore him. Perhaps he
would save a woman or two in his travels. He’d never been able to resist the
little girls on his father’s estate wanting his help to catch a frog or climb a
tree, and that hadn’t changed in his adulthood.

Ash kept his arm around the
woman. “What is your name?”

“Miss L-Lila Radley.”

“Ash Cynfell.” He never
bothered to use the courtesy title that came with being one of the many sons of
a marquess. “No harm will come to you.”

She looked up at him, those
wide eyes seeming to burrow deep down inside him. “I saw that man kill the
other man.”

A sinking sensation struck
his gut. Poor woman. Not only had she been nearly killed, she’d seen what
looked to be a murder happen in front of her. He was tempted to ask her why she
was out alone, but he didn’t wish to make her feel any worse.

Several people began to
spill out of Spencer House. Whoever was renting it at present must have been
hosting a party. He noted his brother with a man in tow, heading toward
Westerling’s body.

“Were you attending the
party here?”

Miss Radley nodded.

“Let us find someone to take
care of you.”

She drew in a long sniffle
and nodded again, holding his jacket tight around her. It would smell of her perfume
later. His gut clenched.

“Thank you for your help—”

He didn’t get to speak to
her again. A hustle of people washed down the steps from Spencer House, all
decked in their finery. He gathered they were her family and friends as they
surrounded her, forcing him back. His brother tapped his arm, but he kept his
attention on the beautiful woman. Her gaze clung to his.

“I found a bobby,” Harris
murmured. “Ash.”

His brother’s serious tone
brought his attention back to him, and he tore his gaze from Lila. “Yes?”

“This was not some random
attack. Well, perhaps it was. Not premeditated as they say. But the fiend who
did it...a serial killer.”

The news punched him like a
fist to the gut. “There’s been nothing in the papers.”

“The police did not want to
cause a panic, but from what I overheard, this type of attack—at this time of
day on a lone man, by knife—is becoming a weekly occurrence.”

“Lord Almighty,” he
breathed. “It could just be a similar attack though, surely?”

Harris lifted a shoulder.
“The doctor said it was the same.” He offered a tilted but grim smile. “Not a
lot of fun watching him poke around Westerling’s body but who knows how much
they will tell us?”

“You always were a sneaky
bastard.”

Harris flashed a
half-hearted smile. “Hey, if you are determined to get yourself involved in a
murder, I have to look out for you. After all, if something happened to you, I
would no longer be known as the handsome twin.”

“Handsome, my arse. We’re
identical.”

“Very well, the charming one
then.”

He had to give him that one.
Harris was by far the more charming of them both. Ash let out a long, low
curse. He should have been here. Damned headache. Westerling was an ass and a
blackguard but to be murdered? Ash supposed the women he’d attacked would not
feel any remorse. He glanced toward Lila.

She had not deserved to
witness as much, however. This was his fault.

“You realise you could be in
danger.”

Ash snorted. “How so?”

“You saw the killer.”

“I saw very little before
receiving a punch to the gut.”

“Too busy admiring the
beautiful debutante eh?”

He turned his full attention
on his brother. “Pardon?”

Harris chuckled, but his
expression grew serious. A strange look for his brother indeed. “She could be
in danger too.”

This caught his attention
fully. “Because she saw the murderer.”

“She’s a witness.”

“Yes.” Ash pushed a hand
through his hair. Bloody Goddamn headaches. Why could he not have ignored it
and simply arrived on time? None of this would have happened.

He should warn her. If the
police were trying to keep the murder quiet, who knew if they’d even tell her?
Ignoring his brother, he marched after the crowd of people as they ushered Lila
back into the house. Because she was surrounded by what looked to be hundreds
of worried relatives, he hung back to wait for his chance.

Lila mustered a brave smile. It didn’t matter
that now was not the time nor the place. His gaze skimmed her décolletage as
she leant in and spoke with someone. Those golden curls spilling over creamy
skin only intrigued him further. No doubt she was receiving so much attention
because of her looks, but it was the bold tilt of her chin and the brave set of
her shoulder that drew him completely in. He’d have expected most women to have
fallen into a swoon by now.